


And Then There Was One

by bcbdrums



Category: The Road to El Dorado (2000)
Genre: Accidental Death, Action/Adventure, Comedy, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Friendship, Gen, Injury, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bcbdrums/pseuds/bcbdrums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time seemed to stop. Tulio looked over the cliff face and down into the dark, churning waters. "Miguel?" he called, his breath suddenly hitching as his heart began to pound in his chest. A fear far greater than the evils of El Dorado could induce gripped him and his mind began to race with possibilities, other than...<br/>"Tulio!" Chel cried, "Where's Miguel?"<br/>"He's...gone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1 - Tulio

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic has been completely rewritten as of 5/3/15. If you read it before then, re-read it now--it's infinitely better!
> 
> That said, this is part one of a two-part Road to El Dorado fanfic. It was inspired entirely by the fic "Freedom" by Draco09 on ff.net. Their fic is an AU, and the premise of the AU circumstance (which I won't share as it spoils) fascinated me. And I thought, okay, so what if it had happened that way, what would have then happened in the film and could it even end the same way? So that's what started this fic. One more note from me at the very end for after you read, explaining part two. Each part is its own stand-alone. So, without further ado:

And Then There Was One

 

Gazing down into the swirling ceynote it was difficult to see anything in the evening light, but the echoing splashes told Tulio that rubble from the altar was still falling after that awesome jaguar and its evil controller, now drowned in the abyss and never to be seen again.

He laughed in a mixture of relief and thrill over their success. Never had they faced such danger and survived, and he wasn't too proud to admit to himself that he'd been terrified—not that he’d ever admit it to anyone else. And while their game had started a bit rough around the edges, it played out brilliantly to its end.

"That was good, huh?" he said, finally raising his eyes from the vortex to congratulate his partner.

But…his partner wasn't there.

Tulio's eyes narrowed as he glanced up and around at the other hanging vines amid the broken cliff face. He saw no sign of his friend's fair hair or scarlet blouse.

"Miguel?" he called, his heart swiftly beginning to pound. A dread far greater than the evils El Dorado could induce penetrated Tulio to his soul, and his mind began to race with possibilities— _any_ possibility. Except...

He swallowed heavily as he looked down into the dark, churning waters.

Time seemed to stop. His jaw fell slack and his eyes widened in fear.

He looked up and around the cliff face again methodically, and then down to the waters once more, searching for what he knew would be impossible to see in the dark and at such a great distance.

" _Miguel!?_ " he shouted loudly, tightening his grip on the vine and bracing himself against the rock.

"Tulio?" he heard from above, and looked up.

It was Chel's voice, her face silhouetted against the smoke-filled sky. He could hear the voices of others behind her on the remnants of the altar.

"Is everything okay?" she called to him frantically.

He looked down again into the whirlpool that the natives believed to be the entrance to their spirit world, _Xibalba_. ‘ _More like the entrance to Hell...’_ he couldn't help thinking as his thoughts rose to a panic.

Miguel was gone. He must have fallen, and somehow Tulio missed it. He had to save him! But how could he? No one could survive that fall or the pull of the current. If he dove down into that pool it was certain death.

But _that_ could only mean...

"Tulio? Where's Miguel?" Chel called.

 _Gone. Dead._ All at once, a deathly gravity encompassed Tulio’s heart and a weight lifted from his mind. His usual satisfaction from reaching a conclusion was completely overwhelmed by a crushing pain and confusion he had never before known.

The voices above him grew louder and Tulio looked up to see several faces peering down now, their eyes wide and awestruck. The Andalucian finally began to climb, higher up the cliff and farther away from where his friend had been lost, his muscles aching with every pull. As he neared the top, his foot slipped on loose rubble and his body slammed against the rock face.

He grunted in pain. _Everything_ hurt, absolutely everything. And for a split second, he considered just letting go.

But that was crazy. He banished the thought.

When he finally reached the ledge, the powerful hands of Chief Tannabok pulled him up the rest of the way and in a moment he found himself on his feet and facing dozens of gleeful faces. Cheers erupted from the crowd and Tulio had the strongest desire to cover his ears to shut out their exultations. He settled instead for turning away and looking out over the vast jungle.

"Tulio!" Chel cried, pushing herself between his body and the chief’s, anxiously checking him for injuries.

Behind them now, the chief spoke, the soft timbre of his voice doing anything but soothe. "Where is Lord Miguel?"

Tulio closed his eyes tightly to block out the strong emotions the words stirred. But instead of darkness, laughing green eyes surrounded by a halo of gold invaded his vision. He opened his eyes to the jungle again, silent and still in contrast to the enthusiastic crowd behind him.

"He's...gone," he said, the words sounding distant to him.

There was a mixture of disbelief and finality in his voice that accurately represented his thoughts – an understanding of what was real while still clinging to the hope that it was all a nightmare from which he would soon awaken. But the dominant, rational part of his mind forbade him to look down into the abyss again, for it would banish that hope and bring the nightmare fully into reality.

The cheers of the crowd died down to a nervous murmur as the shock of the news was received by the grateful people. Only the distant rush of the waters below could be heard for several minutes while the people looked to their remaining lord for guidance.

Finally, when Tulio could stand it no more, he gazed down into the depths – swirling, violent, and dark. The people saw this place as their path to paradise, but all he could see was a lifeless, desolate void.

He felt the heavy hand of the chief come to rest on his shoulder, while Chel, suddenly remembered, still clung to his side. Not surprisingly, neither was of any comfort.

 

* * *

 

With a great gasp, Miguel splashed through the surface of the water and sucked in air as quickly as his lungs allowed. At the same time he forced his limbs to remember how to swim so he could keep his head above water, and he desperately scrabbled for some secure footing as he silently thanked his God that he was alive.

His hands and knees connected with sharp, loose rock and he quickly made his way into shallow water. He crawled until he felt the chill of air across his arms and legs and rested his forehead upon his fists, just out of the water. The effort to stay alive had exhausted him, but his breaths were starting to come easier and after another minute he sat back on his heels and began blinking water from his eyes.

As he pushed the hair out of his face, the first thing he saw looking to his right made him gasp loudly. There was Tzekel-kan in the exact same position as he was, not thirty feet away. But the priest's eyes were fixed on something ahead of him and Miguel choked as he followed the man's gaze to the imposing figure of Hernando Cortés, followed by his legion.

The Castilian fell back on his rear in the water, and his eyes widened in shock as the _conquistador_ averted his gaze from the stunned native toward him. Frightened green eyes were met by a dark, vengeful glare, and Miguel was surprised to see in his peripheral vision an envious look upon the face of El Dorado's high priest.

Cortés's lips drew back in a snarl and he took a step toward Miguel. The con-man needed no other incentive and scrambled to his feet. He ran shivering and shaking into the jungle along the path to the golden city, hoping his knowledge of the land would give him an advantage. Behind him he heard Cortés shout a command and the next moment arrows were flying past him, striking around him within the heavy foliage as he tried frantically to disappear.

And then in the next moment came an echoing crack like thunder and a searing pain in Miguel’s thigh. He stumbled and fell head over heels into the undergrowth, which only made the pain worse, and as he crawled into the dense foliage to hide he understood that he had been shot—not by an arrow, but a musket.

He tried to calm his heavy breaths as he tucked himself behind some massive leaves, knowing now his already frail attempt at escape had become all but impossible. Slipping his hand under his right thigh directly below his buttock he felt the warm slick of blood and a small hole that burned when he touched it, so much so that he barely stifled a cry. But that small victory was shattered to nothing when moments later the heavy footfalls of many soldiers pounded into the thicket.

Miguel didn't move even to breathe, praying they would not find him. He knew that there would be no easy sentence like slavery in Cuba this time. No, only death would follow if he was again captured by Cortés. And…

Miguel gasped in sudden realization, then clapped a hand over his mouth and silently cursed his mistake.

_Tulio!_

Fear for his friend swiftly surpassed even the pain in his leg. Had Tulio fallen into the whirlpool too? Was he even alive?

Just then a sword sliced through the leaves above Miguel's head, and he ducked instinctively. When he peered up, the toothy grin of a helmeted soldier was directly above him.

" _Señor!_ " the man cried as he grabbed Miguel by the arm. The fair-haired man cried out in pain as he was dragged back out of the jungle, his resistance weak due to his injury. "I found the filth!"

Moments later Miguel found himself on his hands and knees before Cortés, alongside Tzekel-kan to his surprise. He glanced at the priest who had a mixture of wonder, fear, and fury on his face. Could it be that Miguel would find an ally in this man whom he had been opposing?

His question was answered very soon, as Cortés's attention was first turned to the native, tapping the still-smoking barrel of his gun against the golden earrings worn by the man.

"Where did you get this?"

"From the City of Gold, my lord," Tzekel-kan answered with reverent excitement.

"You will take us there."

"Of course. And my lord, may I ask—"

"What?" Cortés glared, causing Tzekel-kan to shrink away.

"What will be done with the thief?"

Cortés's eyes widened in interest. "You know this man?"

"Why yes. He and his companion tried to rob our fair city of what is rightfully yours. He deserves to be punished for his crimes," the priest said with growing glee.

"And so he will," Cortés replied flatly, turning for the first time to Miguel. "Where _is_ your companion?"

Miguel glanced up at the cruel face for a moment and then looked away. He didn't know Tulio's fate, but he certainly wasn't going to give Cortés any hints if his friend _had_ happened to survive.

"My lord," Tzekel-kan interrupted, " _if_ he survived my effort to destroy them both for their blasphemy, then he will still be in the city. We must make haste before he completely corrupts them all!"

Miguel glanced up again to see Cortés glaring. No doubt he was furious at Tzekel-kan's effrontery, but the lure of gold was apparently stronger than his anger.

He was startled when the hard eyes were suddenly turned to him again.

"Bind him!" Cortés ordered, and immediately Miguel found his hands pulled tightly behind his back and a damp rope cutting into his wrists.

"But my lord, I thought you said he was to be—"

"Silence!" Cortés glared down at Tzekel-kan. "If what you say turns out to be a lie, I may have need of him. Besides," and Cortés glanced back with revulsion, "he stole my horse."

 

* * *

 

Tulio pushed his fingers in slow circles over his eyes and then in heavier ones over his forehead. He was seated on a plush, _añil_ -dyed cushion inside the gods' temple, surrounded by his heaps of ill-gotten wealth. Through the great arched doorway the light of dawn poured into the hall, reflecting off the tribute of the people of El Dorado and illuminating every corner of the chamber with radiant, golden light.

But Tulio saw none of it, lost in his despair.

It was something he'd never given serious consideration, that either he or Miguel could be killed during one of their confidence games. He wasn't fanciful enough to think it wasn't possible—in fact he was always the careful one, warning Miguel off of some of the more dangerous schemes they envisioned. It was what kept them on the streets pulling small-time scams instead of the big, life-in-prison-if-we-get-caught type of deals. Miguel called it worrying, but for the most part his plans had kept them out of jail and safe from bodily harm.

But for Miguel's half of their partnership, his ideas always involved more risk and far less reward. If they were on a perilous journey using assumed identities, improvising every moment and working toward an ambiguous goal, Miguel was content. The _adventure_ made it worth it to the starry-eyed young thief. And whether they were successful on those endeavors or not, Tulio the practical one was always there to make sure they came out of it with their heads still attached.

He should never have allowed his friend’s idealism to sway him.

He had never actually intended to make the quest for the golden city, even after they won the map in the dice game. Drifting to its very shores after being trapped on the galleon was mere chance, but he was willing to concede that finding the hidden city after surviving the dense jungle was an arresting coincidence. And when the two of them, petty thieves, just happened to show up in time to fulfill the natives’ religious prophecies he was willing to follow Miguel this time—not to mention the wealth of gold they would be sailing away with.

For once, one of his partner’s ideas was panning out to be far more than a wild goose chase. Tulio might have even believed it was destiny if they had gotten away with it.

But now...Miguel was dead. What kind of fate was this?

"Tulio?" Chel's low voice sounded behind him.

Tulio sighed but didn’t acknowledge her, instead looking around the temple and trying not to think of what could have been.                                                                                                                                                                 

Stepping up behind him she set her hands on his shoulders and massaged them gently—not seductively as she had in days past but in a genuine attempt to provide comfort. And truth be told, it was helping the aches he felt from sitting up all night. Tulio appreciated the gesture for what it was worth.

But as he gazed on the great hoard of gold, he felt nothing of his lust for it or for the woman he had been consumed with only one day before. For some reason, without Miguel, he couldn’t find it within himself to care anymore.

"People are...ah...asking if Miguel is going to come back, or stay in _Xibalba_ ," Chel said tentatively.

Tulio clenched his fingers into the cushion.

"And they want to know if you've...changed your plans."

The Andalucian felt something inside him snap. "Changed my _plans?_ "

"Yeah. They want to know if you're going to...wait for Miguel to come back, or...join him in _Xibalba_ , or leave with your tribute and meet him later."                            

Tulio closed his eyes tightly. Her words only added to the turmoil he was experiencing. And his _plans_ were truly the last thing on his mind.

_“We find the city of gold, we take the gold, and then we go back to Spain!”_

More gold than he had ever dreamed of surrounded him, gold that could finance any venture he could imagine and buy all the finer things he coveted. And flaunting it would only make it that much more rewarding. It was what he had wanted for as long as he could remember.

But now that he was _uno_ , it suddenly seemed pointless. It wasn’t that the appeal of great wealth had been lost—he definitely preferred the position he was in now to where he had been back in Spain. But the thought of going back and living the profligate life alone...just wasn't the same as when he thought he’d be doing it all with Miguel.

But that option wasn't on the table anymore. And the pain of it was crushing.

_"...join him in Xibalba..."_

Chel's words reverberated heavily in his mind, and suddenly her hands on him weren't a comfort anymore. He pushed them off and stormed out of the temple, away from the ruin of his life. He didn’t want to think about any of it anymore, the sting of his loss was that great. And yet he couldn’t banish the plan, couldn’t banish Miguel, and couldn’t banish every word spoken between them in the last days. The memories killed him, and yet they were all that was keeping him alive.

As Tulio stumbled down the steep steps, he passed a stunned Chief Tannabok who called out to him with authority and concern.

"My lord?" he asked, and Tulio paused, clenching his fists again. The man’s heavy steps approached and Tulio closed his eyes. He just wanted his mind to stop screaming.

He expected the chief to offer some words of comfort, or perhaps ask the same questions Chel had asked. The city leader didn’t give away that he was aware of their scam, but Tulio didn’t take him for a dim bulb—he was insightful at the very least.

However, when he didn’t say anything for a minute, Tulio opened his eyes and looked back over his shoulder with a cautious brow.

The chief’s expression was sorrowful.

_So, he knows._

Tulio took a deep breath and put on his best sanctimonious face. More than ever he wanted to put on an act.

“What can I do for you Chief?”

Tannabok looked taken aback, but immediately grew thoughtful. “I was…wondering what Lord Miguel might be thinking about right now, in the other world.”

Tulio blinked, and his grin slowly fell as the chief stared knowingly into his eyes.

“Ah…” Tulio sighed in defeat, rubbing his face and running a hand over his hair. He steeled himself and looked back at the chief. “Probably…that he wishes he was here.”

A memory was suddenly sparked for Tulio, one he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten.

_“How about…we forget the plan? Hm?”_

Tulio blinked is it came back. Miguel’s bitter expression, his grumpy attitude at the party—even the way he had played against him while they were distracting Tzekel-kan had been…different, and not at all like his carefree partner.

“Hey, Chief…” he began, not sure how to voice what he was thinking. “Did Lord Miguel…say anything to you about, uh…I don’t know…wanting to stay here,” he cleared his throat, “longer?”

“Mm yes, he did want to stay.”

Tulio’s brow rose and he was left speechless.

“But he said he couldn’t,” the chief continued.

Now Tulio was confused. “Wha…?”

“He said he couldn’t leave you.”

“…He did?”

The chief nodded and Tulio lowered his head, running a hand over his hair again. “Uh…thanks, Chief,” he said, and continued down the temple steps.

His plan of lying low hadn't helped his athletic prowess, and after descending the steps of one temple, crossing the city, and ascending the steps of another he was breathing heavily and taking the final steps on his hands and knees. Every ache from the previous night’s battle was amplified, and he finally felt the desire to just lie down and let the oblivion of sleep take him. But he knew it wouldn’t heal the pain that was beyond the physical.

Now in the Temple of Sacrifice, he looked around at the ruin the stone jaguar had wrought. The place was dark and abandoned, the attendants who had served there having left after Miguel’s ‘commandment.’ It seemed fitting, Tulio thought, that a place intended only to bring death should have no light. All that was left in the hall was a fallen stela, split down the middle. Tulio passed it on his way to the altar and saw it depicted the prophetic image of the two gods, and he cringed. Perhaps it had been about him and his partner after all.

With shaking breaths he slowly stepped out to the ruined precipice, still covered in rubble and torn vines from the night before. He stepped to the edge and sighed as he forced his eyes down to the eddying ceynote.

 _Xibalba_ was no glorious spirit world. Certainly not for Tulio.

"I can't believe...I'll never see you again," he said solemnly as he gazed down into the waters.

A sudden breeze picked up and swirled around him on the heights, and he relished in its chill. He figured he may as well feel outside what he was feeling on the inside.

He looked up from the whirlpool to the vast city, resplendent in its humanity far more so than it was in gold. The shining temples had lost none of their luster, but Tulio's eyes were not drawn to their heights anymore, but to the activity below—to the children playing with bouncing balls, and the musicians trying to replicate the stringed creation Miguel had shown them. To the camaraderie of the men catching fish to feed their families, to the laughter of people watching a pantomime—this is what had so impassioned Miguel: a different kind of riches.

And now, with his worst fears realized and nothing left to scheme about, Tulio could finally see it. If only he'd seen it before. Perhaps then the split he hadn’t realized was occurring would have been stayed, and Miguel would be laughing with him now about their victory. If only he had opened his eyes beyond his own desire…

He sighed and put his hands on his hips and gazed down to the waters one last time before closing his eyes and lifting them skyward.

"It’s all my fault. I’m sorry Miguel. I hope…” he swallowed down a lump that seemed determined to form in his throat, “I hope you found the adventure you were looking for. I'll… I’ll never forget you."

He let his breath out in a long, silent sigh and slowly turned away from the precipice, stopping short when he saw the chief and Chel watching him from the temple entrance. A tiny smile cracked at one corner of his mouth and he strode toward them with his head up.

"Better start loading up the gold chief," he said, trying to sound jovial. "It's...about time I was ascending."

Tulio always knew when it was time to say goodbye.

 

* * *

 

"It's just beyond that ridge," Tzekel-kan said with pleasure as he led Cortés's forces, swaggering with every step.

Several paces back Miguel was forced to walk despite his wounded leg, and being pulled by a rope attached to his wrists now tied in front of him. He was too far away to talk to either Cortés or Tzekel-kan, but close enough to be dragged through the feces of Cortés's new horse while they were still steaming.

He desperately wished Tulio were with him so he could think of a plan to save the city. If Cortés were to arrive and catch them unprepared, the paradise would be lost forever. But there was no knowing where Tulio was, and if the city were to be saved Miguel knew it would be up to him.

Unfortunately, it was hard to come up with plans when every step was agony. His leg burned with each step and ached in between. And his lungs still hurt from the water he had inhaled. But he had to do something.

Up ahead Tzekel-kan bowed low before Cortés as he pointed out the prophetic stela in the mists below and began explaining the circuitous route down the cliff—quite different from the route Tulio and Miguel had taken. And suddenly, Miguel had a plan.

" _Señor_ ," Miguel called out, receiving a look of disgust from the priest. He began pushing forward despite the soldiers’ resistance until they knocked him down, but he didn't give up. " _Señor!_ "

Cortés turned his horse and slowly rode up to Miguel and looking down on him with distaste.

"For your sake, you had better have a good reason for interrupting me."

"Yes, sir, well. I know a better way to get the gold. You won't even have to fight—they'll just...just give it to you."

Cortés rolled his eyes and started to turn away. Miguel struggled to his feet.

"I think the king would...greatly honor a man who can win a victory for Spain without a single man lost, and return with...more gold than the world has ever seen," he pressed.

Cortés paused and looked back, his gaze narrowing. Tzekel-kan's jaw slowly dropped as the man he now called lord dismounted his horse and strode back to the con-man.

"I'm listening."

Miguel's heart sank. If his idea worked, he knew the cost would still be immense—with men like Tzekel-kan and Hernando Cortés making the decisions, blood would definitely be spilled. But perhaps if he could persuade the _conquistador_ , there would still be hope for El Dorado. So he painfully straightened up and began outlining his plan.

 

* * *

 

The crowds cheered and lavished praises upon Tulio, chanting his name as well as Miguel’s amid their songs and continued offerings of golden tribute. However, the con-man noticed that some of the people merely stood silent, observing. A few even cried. Clearly, there were mixed feelings among all the people as Tulio boarded the gold-laden boat along with Chel and Altivo the horse, and he doubted not for the first time the effectiveness of their scheme.

But, no one was coming forward to stop him—not after what had happened to Tzekel-kan. So Tulio stepped boldly onto the boat that would take him away from El Dorado and his old life. He knew that wherever he ended up he would never be anything more than a con-man, but he also knew things would never be as they had been before.

Chel smiled at him encouragingly as he set down the bag he carried of his favorite gold pieces, but he couldn't find it within himself to return the gesture. It wasn’t that his feelings for her had changed—in fact she was the only woman he could genuinely admit that he had real feelings _for_. Maybe when they were back in Spain, his heart would be ready to go on.

He looked down on the city one last time, his eyes resting on the melancholy and anxious face of the chief at the very last. He realized that as a god, he would need to make a speech, especially since he hadn't even spoken about...Miguel's journey alone into _Xibalba_. These people had been left uncertain in their faith, and now it was put upon him to reassure them.

He would have to con himself with this one.

He stepped up on the side of the boat and took a deep breath, ready to spout some nonsense to appease them, when suddenly the frantic grunts and whinnies of Altivo drew everyone's attention. The horse was shaking his head upward as if in gesture, and Tulio turned around. His eyes widened in fear at the sight of campfire smoke rising from the nearby jungle.

"Tulio?" Chel asked worriedly.

"My lord, what is it?" the chief called.

Tulio gulped anxiously. "It's...it's..."

Suddenly the leader of the eagle warriors burst through the crowd shouting for the chief.

"Approaching the city...is an army of strangers!" he gasped.

Chief Tannabok looked momentarily worried, but then his face calmed. "We are safe here. They'll never find the gate to the city."

"But sire," the warrior whispered fearfully, "they are being led...by Tzekel-kan."

"He survived!" the chief gasped. "Warriors, prepare yourselves for battle!"

Tulio knew fighting the Spanish army would only end in El Dorado's demise. And he knew that the pressure was going to be on him to save them. If he didn’t, the scam would be revealed and he’d lose the gold! But he was distracted from thinking up a plan by a hope he hadn't dared imagine—if Tzekel-kan had survived, then perhaps, Miguel...

"Tulio, what should we do?" Chel asked, and he was startled from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Should we set sail now, or...or wait to see if that army finds us?"

Cortés alone frightened Tulio, and the thought of meeting his whole army was enough to make him panicky. Unfortunately, that panic guided his tongue. "You can't fight them. It will be suicide!"

He was surprised when Chel gasped and looked fearfully down at the city. From where he stood he could see the worry and desperation on her face. And Tulio realized that whatever her reasons for wanting to leave El Dorado, it was still her home. Just as Spain was his and Miguel’s.

Tulio knew then he had to help them not for himself, but for the sake of those he loved.

"Chief!" he called down from the boat, and Tannabok turned from rallying his troops to meet his gaze. "You can't fight them. You'll all be killed!"

The horrified screams that sounded after that made Tulio wish he hadn't spoken so hastily.

"Then how can we stop them?"

Tulio opened his mouth and then realized—he didn't have a plan. "Ah...um..." he said with embarrassment, "one moment, please!"

He hurriedly knelt down in the boat and began laying out his props. "Okay, here's the gate, here's the boat..." he said to himself anxiously.

"Uh-huh, and?" Chel said almost in his ear, startling him.

"Here's the gate, here's the boat..." he said, starting over.

"Okay, got that, and?"

"Well... here's the goat, and here's the bate," he stumbled.

"Tulio!" Chel shouted desperately.

Before Tulio could respond the armadillo that had begun following he and Miguel in the jungle knocked over a cup of water – surely it hadn't been holding it and drinking it? – and the water pushed his prop of the boat into the gate, collapsing it.

Tulio’s eyes lit up. "That's it...! We'll crash the boat into the pillars!"

"That's it? I mean, but..." she picked up a heavy bead, "what about the gold?"

"Well..." Tulio felt a familiar yearning for the riches, but like a flash of lightning it was immediately replaced by anguish over his loss. Really...the gold didn't matter anymore. Not much did. But, he would save the city Miguel loved so much if he could. Tulio stood and walked back to the edge of the boat.

"Chief!" he called out authoritatively, "I've got a plan."

 

* * *

 

Miguel was now stumbling along at the head of the army a few paces in front of Cortés’s horse, still bound but no longer being led by the rope. Several feet to his left Tzekel-kan was also still at the head, but he kept shooting murderous glances toward Miguel and the usually-optimistic man was getting nervous. It was extremely likely that when they reached the city, Cortés would see the splendor and forget the plan of pretending to be a god and simply raze it to the ground. If not for Tzekel-kan's corroboration of how he and Tulio had come so far, he knew Cortés wouldn't have considered the idea at all. But thankfully with all that Miguel knew about the city, the high priest was forced to admit it was true and that he had been deceived.

Miguel thought it odd that the bloodthirsty priest still believed Cortés to be a god after hearing them formulating the new plan. The fair-haired man hoped it would be of little consequence now that he had Cortés’s ear. He knew the _conquistador_ thought both of them to be beneath him, but that as a native, Tzekel-kan was barely above a dog to Cortés. Perhaps that alone would work to the Castilian’s advantage.

Having followed Tzekel-kan’s long but safe route the group finally arrived at the base of the cliff, and it wouldn’t be long before they reached the city. Miguel was hoping to stall them for as long as possible, though to what end he wasn’t sure. Opportunity suddenly presented itself when they entered a dense fog. He could no longer see in front of him and was forced to stop.

"What is it?" Cortés growled, halting his horse abruptly.

"I...can't see the way," Miguel answered truthfully.

"Buh!" Cortés grunted in frustration, and Miguel flinched, expecting a violent response. But before one came, Tzekel-kan spoke up.

"My lord, _I_ know the way. I have traveled it since my boyhood."

"Then continue."

Tzekel-kan stepped in front of Miguel and grabbed his arm forcefully as he did so, pulling him along. Miguel couldn't stifle his cry of pain nor prevent the tears that formed in his eyes as the priest dragged him at a much faster pace than they had been going. Soon, the two men were beyond the vision of the legion and Cortés was calling after them to stop. But Tzekel-kan didn't, almost breaking into a run that Miguel couldn't keep up with. But he couldn't break free of the priest's hold either and was forced to follow, the pain in his leg combined with blood loss now causing his vision to blur.

Suddenly, Tzekel-kan stopped and threw Miguel to the ground.

"This is all your fault!"

Miguel took several moments to catch his breath before looking up. His vision was still spotty, but he didn't hide his loathing. "You're the one who wants to kill people for sport!"

" _I_ want the city to be cleansed, for the people to turn from their lackadaisical ways and return to a lifestyle of piety."

"What's wrong with the way things are now?" Miguel couldn't help but ask.

"Ugh! No one reveres the gods! They go about their days trusting in ‘peace’ and ‘happiness,’ with no thought to the will of the gods! They make their contracts without first seeking them or their approval! They rely on their own puny, inferior minds on how to live their lives!"

Miguel caught his breath as the man raved. "And peace is bad, because...?"

"It makes the people lazy, and weak! Oh, but they will pay now. Yes, they will regret that they haven’t humbled themselves and sacrificed for these long years. Now that _Ah Puch_ has arrived, the blood-letting will be great and the cleansing deep!"

“… _Salud_ ,” Miguel finally said.

“What?” the priest snapped.

“Nothing.”

Miguel let out a breath as he painfully shifted up to his knees. This man was insane, and he knew there would be no reasoning with him whatsoever. All he could do was try to keep him from influencing Cortés until they reached the city. Hopefully, the gold would be enough to block out the ravings of the native religious leader.

"Except that _you_ ," Tzekel-kan continued, turning his fierce gaze to Miguel, "have somehow persuaded him that a tribute of meager earthen metal is worth more than one of blood! Because of your _lies_ the city may never be cleansed! Unless...” the priest’s eyes turned violent, “I get rid of you and your companion. Then the great god will see the truth!"

Tzekel-kan advanced toward Miguel, who scrambled to his feet and staggered away from the priest and his obviously murderous intent. But before the priest could pursue and act upon his declaration, Cortés appeared through the trees on his horse. Miguel couldn’t believe he was actually glad to see the man’s cruel face.

"What are you doing, scum?" he said, jabbing Miguel hard in the chest with his musket.

The young Spaniard cried out and fell to his hands and knees, and his breath caught in fear as the high priest stepped over his body and made a sweeping bow before Cortés.

"Simply finding safe paths for you my lord," Tzekel-kan crooned admiringly.

Cortés glared for a long minute while Miguel tried desperately to catch his breath, for once hearing the little voice Tulio always told him about and keeping his mouth shut. Tattling on Tzekel-kan wouldn’t help his situation or El Dorado’s.

Apparently the priest’s explanation satisfied the _conquistador_ , for Miguel felt the huge body of the horse pass by and continue into the mists a moment later. The injured man tried to stand but found his legs wouldn’t obey, and the bright spots dancing in front of his eyes were becoming more numerous rather than dissipating.

“You!” he heard Cortés’s voice behind him now, “bring him!”

A ruddy brown hand suddenly appeared in front of his unfocused eyes, and he drew back in fear as he peered up into the grinning face of Tzekel-kan. The man’s expression was a mixture of triumphant, violent, and lustful—all of which made Miguel wish he could pass out from pain and blood loss and be done with the increasingly ill-fated scam. But his mind apparently wouldn’t let his body make that choice, and he found himself again being dragged by Tzekel-kan through the mists, the man’s long fingernails digging painfully into his hand.

Though the journey was nearly at its end, to Miguel it felt interminable. His right leg was all but useless now, collapsing under him each time he put weight on it. He tried desperately to see beyond the dizziness that had overcome him, but the gray backs of armored soldiers and the muted green of trees shrouded in fog were all he could see. His leg throbbed more painfully with each moment, and he could no longer feel the blood that stuck his pants to his skin for the lightness in his head.

A sickening feeling beyond the nausea of blood loss was growing within Miguel that he had never truly felt before. Worse than injury, worse than imprisonment, he felt the ominous foreboding of the loss of freedom. With each step the blood continued to seep from his leg, and his thoughts became more and more sparse and repetitive. All he could think now as he was led against his will was that he would never see that which he loved again—never again see the splendor of the golden city, never see Tulio with his cunning smile—for his failing body told him the truth: he was not long for this world.

 

* * *

 

The boat glided forward over the crystal waters peacefully, a complete contrast to the atmosphere of the city as everyone waited for the execution of Tulio's plan. It would either work, or it wouldn't. There would be no second chances and no future for El Dorado if it failed.

Tulio looked up to where the eagle warriors and the chief waited with their ropes, and then down to the base of the great pillar where more warriors were ready with their battering ram. Tulio took a breath to give the command, when he saw the captain of the eagle warriors—the man who had brought the news of Cortés's approach—commanding the team with the battering ram.

"Hey! Hey, excuse me!" Tulio called out impulsively, getting confused looks from everyone. "Could you...you, yes, you," he pointed, "c-come here a moment, please?"

The confused and nervous warrior hurriedly approached, quickly falling to his knees and bowing even though he stood several feet higher than Tulio atop the pillar’s base structure.

"This, uh, might sound like a...a strange question, but...when you saw Tzekel-kan, did you...also see Lord Miguel?"

The eagle warrior shook his head slowly. "No, my lord… You think he may have followed him to fight the army?" he said excitedly.

Tulio's heart had already sunk back into its pit of misery, but he put on a fake smile as he replied. "Yeah, that's…exactly what he would do."

"Oh my lord, with both of you working together, we will definitely be safe!"

Tulio looked down as he muttered to himself. "Yeah. Working together..."

As he looked back up he caught sight of Chel's worried, pitying expression. It only made him feel worse. But he couldn't think of Miguel right now. He had a civilization to save.

"All right chief, on my signal," he shouted. "Ready—hit the pillars!"

The battering ram was forced forward and the supports beneath the great pillar began to shatter. As he watched them break one after the other, dread began to rise within him.

"They're breaking too fast!" He hadn't considered that.

"Tulio, the sail!" Chel thought quickly.

He grabbed the rope and tugged furiously, but it wouldn't budge. "It's stuck!"

Chel looked at him with her brows raised in question, but he had no backup plan. This was it. Not only would they not save the city, but they would die too.

"I'll get it, my lord!" a sudden shout drew his attention, and the eagle warrior who had been kneeling above them made a flying leap onto the boat. Tulio watched in disbelief as he scrambled up the mast and from there released the sail rigging.

The warrior fell to the deck as the sail filled with the wind and the boat began moving quickly.

"Thanks… But you've got to get off the boat!" Tulio said anxiously, knowing the man would be trapped away from his home if he stayed.

The warrior looked at the breaking supports and then down at the waters, knowing that even if he jumped off and swam now he couldn't escape the fall of the great pillar. His face fell in despair.

Suddenly, a great white mass passed between them and Tulio was knocked back onto his rear end.

"Altivo!?" Tulio cried in confusion, and the horse nudged the warrior up over his neck onto his back. The man screamed as the horse bucked him off high into the air, and then with a precise kick sent the man flying several feet away into the waters—beyond the danger of being killed by the falling pillar.

“I’m okay!” Tulio heard the man calling as he turned back to the horse with a dumbfounded expression.

"Well. You could have made it less painful for him."

The horse grunted anxiously in reply, and Tulio looked up just as the shadow of the pillar fell over the boat.

"Whoa!" he cried and grabbed an oar and began paddling. The great carved pillar fell into the waters with a deafening roar.

Moments later, the boat was carried on the resulting wave as if flying. Through the cave they went, crashing and turning like kite in a wild wind. They had no control over the boat, but Tulio knew for the plan to work they would have to turn.

"We're going to have to hit it broadside. Turn the boat!"

"You got it!" Chel replied a bit sarcastically, as if the two of them could accomplish anything outside hanging on for dear life. But with both of them pulling on the rudder they managed to swing the boat around at the last moment as the small pillars came into view.

"On impact, jump!"

The command was given not a moment too soon, for in the next they went flying out of the boat whether they would have wanted to or not. Then they were spinning in the waters as rocks thundered and crumbled around them.

Tulio tried to swim, but it was futile. The water was a mighty force pulling him to its will, which unfortunately was completely underwater. A large rock collided with Tulio's back and he cried out reflexively, his lungs filling with water as a result.

The shock of the cold water burning in his lungs caused him to gasp for air again, only making the problem worse. He panicked as his vision grew dim and his chest felt as though it would explode from pain. His hands reached out for anything that might save him but found only the endless depths.

 _‘Is this what you felt when you died, Miguel?’_ he wondered silently. ‘ _I hope it wasn't this bad for you...’_

Tulio’s vision went entirely dark, and his body grew limp, no longer responding to his brain’s commands. The last thought he had was wondering if there really was a God, and if he would be seeing Him and Miguel soon. And then, blackness.

 

* * *

 

Miguel was startled to consciousness by a painful smack to the back of his head. When he gave a cry he received another jab, this time to his back with a blunt object. As he took in his surroundings, he realized he was being dragged by his arms, a soldier on each side of him. And when he looked up, the roaring falls that hid the majestic city were before him.

"Here, beyond these falls, is the gate to El Dorado," Tzekel-kan declared as he strode forward into the waters proudly.

The injured Castilian watched forlornly through blurred vision as the priest advanced through the mists to the pounding spray of the falls. But then suddenly he stopped, and Miguel blinked several times before he saw it.

"No..." Tzekel-kan uttered.

Cortés growled angrily. "You lying heathen. There's nothing here at all.”

"No. Wait, wait,” Tzekel-kan turned to his god, wringing his hands desperately. But Cortés had already turned around. The priest’s face grew fierce and he turned his wrath on the object of his defeat. “You did this!" he cried, hurling himself at Miguel.

To the Spaniard’s dismay, the soldiers laughingly dropped him and allowed the attack.

"What, I—" Miguel gasped, trying desperately to defend himself with bound hands.

"It's your fault! How did you do it!? _How?!"_

A few of the soldiers began placing bets on the outcome of the fight, but Cortés put a stop to it, spitting down upon the two wrestling men and then turning his horse again.

"Leave the fools to kill each other. There is no El Dorado here. Onward men!"

"Help! Help!" Miguel gasped as the army marched past, but none acknowledged him. Tzekel-kan got his powerful hands around Miguel’s throat and began to squeeze.

"Now...the gods...will have _blood!_ "

Miguel kicked with his good leg and pushed with his bound hands, but Tzekel-kan's position gave him the advantage over his injured adversary. The fair-haired man began to choke as his air supply was completely cut off. Within moments his cries died to nothing and the strength in his body failed. His head fell to the side as his vision rapidly fell dark.

He was facing the great falls, their mists matching the fog in his eyes. While he could still think he silently bid goodbye to the world and apologized for failing his absent friend. Then suddenly, behind a rock there appeared a shock of black hair and a cobalt-blue shirt. His eyes shot open in a last desperate attempt to stay conscious.

"Tulio!" he choked out weakly.

"What...?" Tzekel-kan breathed, following the dying man’s gaze until his eyes finally fell closed. He released his hold on Miguel’s throat, letting the still body drop with a thud, and he soundlessly rose to his feet, his eyes narrowing.

He strode in the direction of the newly settled boulders, eyes darting back and forth amid the mist of the falls. And then, he stopped, a wide grin filling his face.

"C'mon Tulio, breathe, breathe!" Chel was muttering as she hammered into Tulio's back with her fist. He was seated upright, slumped forward and held up around the chest with her other arm, clearly unconscious.

Tzekel-kan approached with silent steps, a thrill in his eyes. Clearly the gods favored him in giving him this chance to eliminate both imposters. And with them gone, there would be no stopping the dawn of the Age of the Jaguar.

Determined in her task, Chel was unaware of the high priest's approach as she pounded into the Spaniard's back. On the rock above her, the armadillo suddenly squeaked and leapt down to hide behind her. Altivo grunted loudly and nudged her head harshly.

"Ow, cut it out! Tulio, c'mon, don't do this to me!"

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

"Ah!" Chel gasped, almost dropping Tulio as she looked up into the vicious face of Tzekel-kan.

"It looks like you'll finally be the sacrifice you were meant to be," he said, clasping his fingers in front of him.

At that moment Tulio began to cough, and he heaved up several mouthfuls of water before falling back against Chel. As he sucked in air he realized that somehow, he had survived the crash and with a grateful sigh he silently thanked God for his life.

Then he opened his eyes, and shrieked.

Tzekel-kan leered down at him, waving his hand in greeting.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he shouted at the sky.

"Oh no," the priest replied calmly. "It's the fulfillment of prophecy. The Age of the Jaguar will be the beginning of a purer people—as soon as all of _your_ kind has been sacrificed!"

He hissed the final word with a glee that scared Tulio, and the Andalucian backed against Chel frantically as he looked around for an escape. Tzekel-kan picked up a large pointed rock and raised it above his head in both hands.

"Which would you like to bless the gods with first—your heart, or your head?"

Suddenly, a flash of gold and red propelled Tzekel-kan past them and against the wet rock face, and the native man grunted in pain.

Tulio couldn't believe his eyes.

"Miguel!"

The man in question was shoving Tzekel-kan up against the boulders, but the high priest recovered quickly. He cast Miguel off with a wild grunt and leapt toward him with the rock.

"Oh, no you don't!" Tulio said, sticking out his foot and tripping the crazed man.

Tzekel-kan fell forward and landed face-first on Miguel’s right, a lengthy groan escaping his lips. Tulio and Chel hurried to their feet to meet his next attack, but the priest didn't retaliate. Instead he slowly began to roll over, his shoulders heaving.

"Ahh!" Miguel cried, pushing himself away as he saw that the man had been impaled in the chest by the sharp rock he wielded.

"You...have doomed us all!" the priest howled in fury. He tried to speak again, but a sudden ripping cough halted his speech. Blood was running down his midsection from the wound in his chest, and now from his mouth as he continued to cough.

Tulio and Chel moved to kneel next to Miguel as the priest's coughs changed to a maniacal, gleeful laughter. The three recoiled in horror as Tzekel-kan looked directly at them and licked the blood from his lips.

And then, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backward, his head hitting the stone with a sickening crack. El Dorado’s high priest was dead.

The three survivors sat silent, catching their breath, their eyes still wide at the horror they had witnessed. Tzekel-kan did not breathe again, and his blood soon stilled. The sound of rushing water and the twittering of birds returned to them, reminding them all where they were. Tulio was the first to move.

“Miguel!” he cried, throwing his arms around his friend’s shoulders and laughing.

“Ow, hey! What are you doing?” Miguel asked, laughing a little too at his friend’s infectious chortling.

“I thought you were dead!” Tulio said as he pulled back, looking at his friend with a broad smile.

“Dead? Why?” he rasped.

“Because you fell into that maelstrom,” Tulio said, still grinning.

“Ohh, right…” Miguel said, scratching his head as the memory returned. Everything since then had completely eclipsed it.

“Are you all right?” Tulio asked suddenly, his grin falling as he took stock of his friend’s battered condition. “What happened to you?”

“Well,” Miguel began with a grunt, “first we washed up in the spring near the Weeping Woman.” He was grateful for his friend’s hands on his shoulders, knowing he would fall over otherwise. “Then we were captured by Cortés.”

Tulio blinked in surprise at the casual way his friend related the tale. “Uh-huh...” Noticing the bindings on Miguel’s wrists, he immediately went to work on loosening them.

“And then I got shot…”

“Shot? Where!?” Tulio asked, frantic again.

“Ungh. Here,” Miguel grunted as he rolled over, displaying the wound.

“Ooh…” Tulio said and whistled lowly, while Chel recoiled with a gasp.

“What kind of weapon did _that_?” she asked, standing and taking a step back.

“It’s called a musket. It shoots lead balls as fast as…as lightning,” Miguel explained, lacking his eloquence while still struggling for consciousness. “Hey, sorry…could I have some water?”

“Water? Of course,” Tulio answered and jumped up to walk the few feet to the pool.

Miguel lay his head down on his finally unbound forearms, his eyes desperately wanting to close. To have actually made it this far only to die seemed like a cruel cheat of the universe, and he clenched his fists in defiance. He was going to live if it killed him—!

 _Wait_ …

“Here you go— Hey! Hey, Miguel!” Tulio said, nudging his friend’s shoulder with his elbow.

“Ohh!” Miguel whined, but he blinked up at his friend nonetheless.

Tulio had one eyebrow arched in doubt, but his eyes belied his concern. He also had water dripping from his cupped hands.

“Do you want to drink, or do you want to sleep?” Tulio asked sarcastically.

“Drink,” Miguel said firmly, and lifted his head a few inches to meet Tulio’s lowered hands. He sucked in the water greedily, grateful for its coolness against his injured throat.

“We’ve got to bind that bullet wound and get it treated before it gets infected,” Tulio said practically.

“Sure, we’ll just go to the nearest apothecary,” Miguel replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh come on, I’m sure Chel can show us what the people use around here to treat infections. Can’t you?”

“Uh…yeah, sure,” Chel said, still looking a bit green staring at Miguel’s wound.

The fair-haired man looked up at the native woman with a thoughtful frown. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and then seeming to decide something, let out a sigh. His face relaxed and he resumed drinking while his friend sized up the situation.

Then, Tulio’s lips parted in a soundless gasp and his hands dropped the rest of the water, earning him a glare from Miguel.

“I, uh…guess the bullet’s still in there, huh?” Tulio finally said, starting to look a bit green himself.

“Yes. I suppose you think we’ll just go to the nearest surgery, too?” Miguel retorted.

Before Tulio could reply, Miguel’s body was overtaken by a rasping cough that sent him up to his hands and knees.

“Hey, whoa, you okay part—? _¡Qué demonios_ _!”_ Tulio gasped, seeing the fierce bruises around Miguel’s neck for the first time. “What _happened?_ ” he asked, his eyes wide with shock.

“He,” Miguel pointed weakly toward Tzekel-kan, “tried to kill me.”

Tulio’s eyes narrowed in hate as he glared at the body, but the evil path his thoughts started taking was halted by Chel’s voice.

“When?” she asked.

“Just—” Miguel coughed, “a few minutes ago, right after Cortés left.”

“Wait, wait, back up,” Tulio said, raising a hand. “How did you and that maniac and Cortés get here?”

“Well…” Miguel hissed in pain as he turned to sit upright again. He was grateful when Tulio moved behind him for support, and he leaned back against his shoulder with a relieved sigh. Then with a disgusted look he pointed past Chel to the body of Tzekel-kan. “He thought Cortés was a god called 'Ah Choo' or something like that, and wanted to lead him to the city to slaughter everyone. But _I_ convinced him that everyone would believe he was a god and just give him their gold like they did with us.”

Miguel tilted his head to glance up at Tulio, and the raven-haired man’s brow rose in surprise. It wasn’t a bad plan.

“But then,” Miguel coughed again, “when we got here, the gate was gone. I expect I have you to thank for that?”

Tulio grinned and looked up at Chel, who crossed her arms in satisfaction.

“But…how did you know we were coming?” Miguel asked breathily, looking between them.

“One of the warriors spotted the army,” Tulio answered. “I knew the city wouldn’t stand a chance against Cortés, so I came up with the plan to crash the boat into the pillars and cause a cave-in.”

“Ha! Brilliant!” Miguel cried and clapped his hands. But then his throat constricted against the pain and another set of rasping coughs took over his chest.

Chel’s face fell in worry and Tulio’s in panic as Miguel slipped from his shoulder to the ground.

“Miguel! Miguel, hey!” Tulio said, dragging him back up to lean against his chest. The larger man’s body was limp and heavy against the Andalucian, and his breaths were coming in quick gasps. His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused.

“Sorry, Tulio…” Miguel said without looking up. “Thought the will to live would be enough.”

“Tulio, he’s still losing blood!” Chel said, pointing at the reddening wet stones beneath them.

“ _Maldito…_ ” Tulio swore. “Here, take him,” he said, and Chel quickly knelt and took the weight of Miguel into her arms.

Tulio took off his vest and began ripping it down its seams to make into bindings for Miguel’s leg.

“Hey…” Miguel said, reaching an arm out to touch Tulio’s. The darker-haired man turned his intense blue eyes to look at his friend, not pausing in his task. Miguel gave him a half-grin. “At least it was an adventure.”

Tulio closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He’d just gone through this, and he wasn’t about to go through it again.

“Miguel, you’re going to live,” he said emphatically, and began tightly wrapping the leather strips around his friend’s thigh to staunch the blood flow.

“And this time, people will remember us,” Miguel said with a dreamy sigh. “Hopefully for the right reasons...”

Tulio’s face grew solemn, and as he finished his task he placed a hand on Miguel’s shoulder, causing the Castilian to blink several times to focus his vision.

“Miguel. I’m…sorry I didn’t let you enjoy the city, the way you wanted to. You were right.”

The fair-haired man’s jaw fell slack, and his brow rose in disbelief. “You…but, the plan? The gold? And…” Miguel glanced back toward Chel knowingly.

“I know…” Tulio’s gaze dropped as he sighed. But then he inhaled bravely and looked up, his face deadly serious. “But some things…are more valuable than gold.”

Slowly, Miguel’s brow rose and the color started returning to his cheeks. Tulio’s lips curled upward ever so slightly as Miguel broke into a grin and clapped his hand over Tulio’s.

Chel reached across the short gap between them and gave each of their shoulders a squeeze. “Well, come on boys, you don’t want to stay here forever, do you?”

Tulio and Miguel looked at each other in confusion. “But…we don’t have a map—”

“We don’t have a _plan,_ ” Tulio added the more important point.

“Well, that’s what makes it interesting,” she said with a grin.

Miguel grinned at Tulio, who threw up his hands. “You’re right! What are we waiting for?”

“We’ll follow that trail!” Chel said boldly, pointing masterfully into the wild jungle.

Tulio stood and reached down to pull Miguel up with both hands.

“Ready for the next adventure, partner?” he asked as he pulled Miguel’s arm up over his shoulder so he could lean on him to walk and likewise supported him around the chest with his arm.

Miguel blinked away his recurring dizziness to look up into Tulio’s grinning face. Any uncertainty he had felt about his friend’s loyalties had been completely washed away. He nodded and reached his other hand across to give his friend an awkward handshake.

“Always, partner.”

Chel led Altivo over to the pair so they could mount up. Tulio went first and then pulled Miguel up behind him, and lastly Chel climbed up and sat on the horse’s rump. The armadillo scampered up Altivo’s foreleg and sat atop his head like a crown, squeaking his approval.

“First stop, the New World Apothecary!” Tulio commanded.

“You got it!” Chel grinned.

Getting an idea, Miguel smirked mischievously as he reached around Tulio and grabbed the reins.

“ _¡Arriba!_ ” he cried as he kicked the horse brutally with his good leg and held tight to the reins. Altivo reared, knocking Chel off behind them, and then took off at a gallop, the armadillo clinging to his mane for dear life.

“Hey!” Tulio said in annoyance, anxiously reseating himself.  If Miguel hadn’t been leaning into him he’d have fallen off too, and under the horse.

When he looked back to glare at his partner, Miguel was giving him a ‘you owe me one’ look and wasn’t about to back down. They had a brief staring contest, interrupted by the terrified squeaks of the armadillo as they bounced harshly on Altivo’s back. It ended with Tulio throwing up his arms in exasperation.

“Fine! Okay! Sorry about Chel too.”

“Apology accepted,” Miguel said and immediately pulled Altivo back into a slow walk.

The armadillo slid down into Tulio’s lap and he recoiled in disgust, and then he had the wind knocked out of him by Miguel falling against his back.

“Okay,” his partner coughed, “bad idea.”

Tulio turned around to glare, but his expression softened when he saw the pained expression his friend wore. “…We’ve had enough wild rides for a while, don’t you think?” he finally said.

Miguel blinked dazedly. “Mm, yes. Swimming through the underworld definitely gave me my fill.”

Tulio ran a hand over his hair with a sigh. “And I’ve had enough of boats to last me a lifetime.”

Miguel’s face twisted into a puzzled expression and he rested his chin on Tulio’s shoulder. “So then, if we’re not going on a boat…how are we going to get back to Spain?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Behind them, they suddenly heard Chel’s voice from a distance. She shouted several words in a language neither understood, and then, “You boys are dead!”

“Ah, well…” Tulio said, swallowing nervously. “I’ll…think of something. Boats aren’t the only way to travel.”

Miguel laughed, and the sound was medicine to his friend’s tired soul. “The next thing you’ll be telling me is that you’ve invented a flying machine.”

Tulio’s brow rose at a memory Miguel had suddenly sparked of a summer he’d spent in Portugal years before, and a sly smile crept onto his face.

“Miguel, I’ve got a plan!”

 

 

* * *

 

_-end part one-_

_A/N:_   _Don't read this note unless you read the fic! Don't spoil yourself!!!_

_Okay, so, I hope it has the same feel of the movie. An adventure comedy that's got some serious moments and some weird moments as well. This part is complete, story end. Now, as for part two, coming as soon as I have time write it (probably in another week...) will be the same premise but, instead of Tulio it will now be Miguel hanging on the vine in the beginning. And I'll follow Miguel's actions and see where they lead him. I expect the story to be 100% different, so it will be a challenge to arrive at the same ending! Hope you enjoyed and stick around until part two!_

_A note on the Spanish translations - just Google them, that's how I got them.  And as for the characters' regions of origin...I'm not satisfied with Tulio being Andalucian, but that seems to be fairly common fandom preference, so I let that one settle.  And as for Miguel being Castilian, I'm also dissatisfied with that.  But he's definitely from the north of Spain, and it's not so obscure as the other options I thought of.  And trust me--I researched this one and really tried.  If anyone can think of better places, let me know._

_And if anyone can think of a better title for this fic, please, suggest it!_

 


	2. Author's Note

This isn't part two - it's a request to re-read part one, those who have read it already and liked the story. I completely rewrote it from top to bottom as of 5/3/15, and it is infinitely better! It's twice as long as the original, it has added content to each scene, and a much longer conclusion with far more interaction between Miguel and Tulio. More importantly though in my opinion, the quality of the writing is better.

To those who are annoyed by this 'fake post,' well...I want you to read the quality version. But fear not, the second part is in-progress! It barely resembles part one at all, is longer, and is much harder to write. Which is why it's taking so long to post...


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